


In the Mirror

by space_oddity_75



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Gen, Sadness, Sam is a boozer, living in a crazy world, mad-in-a-coma-or-back-in-time?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_oddity_75/pseuds/space_oddity_75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reflections on two different lifestyles of the same man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Mirror

Sam Tyler awoke with a strange feeling in his stomach, but dismissed it as one of the nasty side-effects of the whole bottle of booze he’d had the previous night, which now stood empty and harmless on the floor.

Every morning he promised himself he’d give up the alcohol altogether – back home he’d never drunk anything stronger than a diet coke or the occasional glass of wine to accompany a fancy dinner - but every night spent in this god-forsaken timeslot felt so lonely and desperate that the glass had now become a constant companion to his thoughts. Drowning his feelings in whiskey was certainly not gonna make him a better copper or a saner man, but after all, at the very back of his mind, he somewhat still believed this adventure in 1973 was a sort of perverted dream, a bad practical joke played by his sick mind, and therefore even indulging in too much alcohol or in bad living habits could not do him too much harm, could it?

He pushed himself up to a standing position and straightened his crumpled brown shirt, cursing the formidable headache that was forming behind his eyes. For the umpteenth time he’d spent the night in that foul-smelling room in front of the TV set, awaiting contact from the “real world”. But the box had remained silent – as it had been in the last couple of weeks, much to Sam’s despair – and in the end, he had dozed off sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the wall.

Now, that had been a big mistake. Today his neck felt stiff and his head heavy. He thought that maybe he could ask Annie for a nice shoulder massage later on - her slender hands were always so soft and warm whenever she touched him - but on second thoughts, he didn’t know whether he’d be able to summon up enough confidence to do so without blushing and making a total fool of himself. 

What a bloody arse he’d become in this stupid universe! And when had he started behaving so shyly around women? Back home he used to be much more confident, more forward, like a real man should be. That’s how he’d conquered Maya in the first place. He was her boss and she liked his serious and straightforward manners. No second thoughts, no compromises. He’d always been the man in control of the situation back then, but what about now?

He sighed and made a face while massaging his neck, heading off to the bathroom to get himself cleaned up. He could still smell the heavy stench of cigarette smoke lingering on his clothes, a sign that he’d been too much around Gene Hunt the previous day. 

Disgusted, he tossed the shirt and the rest of his clothes onto a pile on the floor and had a quick shower, then picked up the first clean shirt and trousers he could find and quickly got dressed, not even checking whether they matched or not. His mind was too numb to care today, and anyway the fashion sense of his colleagues wasn’t much better than his; besides, his slender figure could carry off almost any kind of style, while the others often sported big pot bellies under their too-tight shirts and jumpers. Whatever he wore, he couldn’t look any funnier than them anyway.

Absentmindedly filling the basin with cold tap water, he spread some shaving cream onto his pale cheeks, picked up his old-fashioned razor and gingerly looked up into the mirror, trying not to nick himself with the exposed blade as he had already done too many times already. 

He froze immediately, a chilling feeling running down his spine.

Staring back at him was a stern-looking man in an expensive blue suit, a buttoned-down white shirt and an elegant tie. The spitting image of his old self, DCI Sam Tyler, in his usual style and look, back in 2006. The man’s eyes were distant, his jaw clenched. He looked none-too happy, almost haunted, and that image seemed to pierce his very soul on the other side of the mirror.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a second, shocked, and when he re-opened them the image was gone.

He just stood there in disbelief, half-naked, mouth agape, his pin-striped black shirt hanging from his shoulders still unbuttoned, while the inner tug-of-war between the two worlds fighting in his confused mind sent his thoughts into a whirlwind. 

What the hell was wrong with him? Was he seeing things again?

His heart was racing now and he didn’t know what to do besides trying to shake off the feeling by blocking out the anxiety with a few deep breaths. He put down the razor and washed his face with cold water a few times, until he regained some composure and had the guts to look into the mirror again.

This time he was met with his 70s style image, with the longer sideburns and the heavy bags under his eyes: the face he’d got accustomed to seeing every day since he’d landed in this god-awful place and time. To some extent, this was a relief.

But why all this? Was the vision a message from the deepest part of his mind, reminding him how much he had changed in the last few months? And was this change for the better or for the worse? Or could it be a warning from the other universe, the infamous and distant “real world”, where apparently he was still lying in a coma, hooked up to various machines that kept him alive? His mind refused to investigate any further, at least for the time being.

Every day he spent here, he wondered to which extent his brain was still sane. Was he simply a nutter, as Annie sometimes had joked he was? Or was there something more, something scarier going on with him at a different level?

Maybe, one day, his predicament would change and he would finally understand it all. For now, he tried to dismiss the thought until the evening, when he’d be back into this small apartment, nursing another glass of whiskey to force his fears away. 

Buttoning up his shirt and picking up his leather jacket, he took a deep breath and got ready for a new day in 1973. Locking the door behind him, he headed out into the Mancunian early-morning chill, ready to lock horns with DCI Hunt once again, roll his eyes at Chris and Ray’s tasteless jokes and maybe steal a couple of sideway glances at Annie’s delightful smile.

He found himself cheer up inwardly at the thought. As compared to his boring and buttoned-up life back home, this strange, crazy, old-fashioned world was not totally bad to his tastes, after all.


End file.
